Sweet Dreams: Vegas Dreams, #1

By Cheryl Bradshaw

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cheryl Bradshaw: 

Rae. Sasha. Callie. Kenna. Four lifelong friends. Four women looking for love. 

Sweet Dreams: Vegas Dreams #1, Rae's Story 

After catching her boyfriend in her bed with his secretary, Rae has serious doubts about ever finding true love. Willing to give it one more shot, she tries online dating and meets Tyler, a handsome, mysterious man who catches her attention from his first email. Everything derails on their first date when Tyler runs into an old friend who refers to him as Richard. Humiliated, Rae leaves, but she can't get him off her mind. Who is Tyler really? And what secret is he trying to hide? 

The Vegas Dreams series includes four novellas: 

Sweet Dreams (Rae's Story) 
Scandalous Dreams (Sasha's Story)
Stolen Dreams (Callie's Story) 
Summer Dreams (Kenna's Story) 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cheryl Bradshaw
• Release date: May 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533716613

Cheryl Bradshaw

Cheryl Bradshaw is a New York Times and 11-time USA Today bestselling author writing in multiple genres, including mystery, thriller, romantic suspense, supernatural suspense, and poetry. She is a Shamus Award finalist for best private eye novel of the year, an eFestival of Words winner for best thriller, and has published over fifty books since 2011. When she's not writing, Cheryl loves jet-setting to new countries, playing with her grandkiddos, high tea, and pursuing a wishful side career as a professional food tester of wine and cheese.

Book preview

VEGAS DREAMS NOVELLA SERIES BY CHERYL BRADSHAW:

Sweet Dreams – Rae’s Story (Book 1)

COMING SOON:

Shattered Dreams – Sasha’s Story (Book 2, May)

Stolen Dreams – Callie’s Story (Book 3, July)

Summer Dreams – Kenna’s Story (Book 4, September)

My name is Rae, and this is my story.

My quest to find true love all started with online dating. I know. I know. Sure, dating over the Internet via one’s phone was no longer as taboo as it used to be, but still ... swipe left, swipe right ... hope for a miracle with a guy trying to get to know me inside the confines of a chat box?

Finding a man these days sure wasn’t what it used to be.

At this point, I didn’t have much choice. I’d never been married. Never even been close to being married. All my clocks were ticking. Waiting for a man to spontaneously appear before me hadn’t happened yet, and at twenty-seven, I wasn’t getting any younger. Something had to change.

All of my friends were married, unhappily, for one reason or the other, but not a one was satisfied. Not a single one! During our weekly vent sessions, also known as dinner, sexual intimacy with their husbands was described by my friends in a variety of ways: dull, painful, boring, and my personal favorite ... lasting too long.

Too long?

If I found a good guy with a heartbeat who was willing to be with me forever, it couldn’t last long enough.

To date, my longest relationship topped out at six months, and that was when I was in college. His name was Brian. And at that experimental age, the sex wasn’t worth writing home about. We only had boom boom time—as he liked to call it—one way and in one location, which was his old, spring-worn twin bed. There was no foreplay, and absolutely no college experimenting took place.

Once, after growing weary of the same old, same old, I’d uncorked my nerve and suggested something new. Not outrageous, just a step in the amp it up direction. I turned the shower on, and when the bathroom had achieved a smoldering level of sexy steaminess one sees in the movies, I appeared in Brian’s room wrapped in nothing but a short white towel. I’d twisted the top edge a few times and plunged it into my cleavage, hoping my efforts would achieve the desired effect.

When Brian finally tore his eyes away from the book he was reading after I’d cleared my throat not once, but two times, I donned my best sultry smile and beckoned him closer with my finger. To my surprise, and horror, he cocked his head to the side, lifting an eyebrow, and twisting his mouth as if to say: What the hell are you doing? He then flat-out refused, saying sex in the shower was overrated. He admitted he’d tried it with his last girlfriend. He hadn’t liked it. He saw no reason to try it again. It was wet and slippery, and he couldn’t feel anything. He further suggested I shower by myself, promising to be in bed waiting for me when I was done, where I once again would pretend like I truly enjoyed lovemaking from a single position.

What a square.

I’d been rejected by a boy who should have been in the sexual prime of his life, but instead of seeing it for what it was at the time—his problem—I’d convinced myself that it was mine. What was wrong with me? Was I too fat? Was my long, dark brown, perfectly wavy hair a turn-off? Or maybe it was my hazel, oversized, turtle eyes. Maybe I was repulsive in ways I hadn’t even imagined, and the only way he could have sex with me was under the covers, at night, with the lights out, on a shoddy bed.

Standing there before Brian that night, scantily clad and feeling like last night’s stale leftovers, I realized something: the time had come for me to find out what a real relationship felt like with a real guy—a guy who was actually into me. And one thing was certain: Mr. Square wasn’t my ticket to ride. I hurled the towel to the ground, allowing Brian to take a nice, long look, a look that was his last.

Rae? Did you hear what I just said?

I broke free from the college memory and glanced at Sasha, who eyeballed me as if to say, Well ...?

Over the last several minutes, I’d watched her mouth move in rapid succession, but as for what she’d been saying, admittedly, I hadn’t the slightest clue. I stood, tossed my Hermes handbag over my shoulder, and tried to think of something nice to say before I made my quick exit.

Where are you going? Sasha asked. You just got here. What about your dinner?

I glanced at my partially eaten Oriental salad and looked around the table. Sasha, Kenna, and Callie’s steely glares, crossed arms, and tilted heads expressed their feelings about my sudden need to leave early. I pushed the chair in, tried to avoid eye contact. I’ll stay longer next time. Promise. I just have a lot going on today.

What’s gotten into you over the last several months? Sasha asked. You seem so ... different.

I feel different.

Mind telling us why?

We’ll have to save that conversation for another night. I’m sorry, guys. Truly, I am. I have a date tonight, and I’ve got to go. Next week, dinner is on me, okay?

But this is girls’ night, Sasha said. There are no guys on girls’ night.

Only because you’re all married, I said. If you were single, it would be different. Trust me.

"You always have a date lately, Kenna said. I can’t even remember what a date feels like anymore."

She groaned as if her life was already over. She wasn’t even thirty.

We sit here, week after week, pouring our hearts out to you about our lousy lives, Sasha said. You listen, but you never chime in.

I shrugged.

"I’m